That someone is often God, especially if we have eyes to see the brokenness in people’s lives. He says that there should be a someone with hammer at the head of every happy man, “reminding him with a knock that there are unhappy people, that however happy he may be, life will sooner or later show its claws”. I like to quote Anton Chekhov, the famous Russian short story writer and a Christian. He is the great iconoclast.The suffering of life doesn’t seem to pair with the goodness of God. He draws from this new understanding a lesson that I had to read and re-read: A really good photograph might become in the end a snare, a horror, and an obstacle.” (p.
I want H., not something that is like her.
I need Christ, not something that resembles Him. Is it a disadvantage–is it not in some ways an advantage–that it can’t pretend the least resemblance to that with which it unites me? Tomorrow morning a priest will give me a little round, thin, cold, tasteless wafer. Take a parallel from an infinitely higher sphere. Images, whether on paper or in the mind, are not important for themselves. It doesn’t matter–not much–if my memory of her is imperfect. Later he says, “It doesn’t matter that all the photographs of H. It was a great trouble to his mind that he might remember her the way his mind wanted to remember her, rather than the way she really was. Lewis discusses how he initially was very angry that he couldn’t find any photographs of his wife that properly captured her likeness. Klerk, within the four brief chapters Lewis very honestly writes his heart onto the pages as he works through the grief of the loss of his wife, and considers how the new life he must live on the other side of hers affects his understanding of God.Īlthough I expect many of the profound lessons in these brief pages will come up in conversations here at a later date, I wanted to share one specific thought that meant a great deal to me. Originally published under the pseudonym of N.W. And there would’ve been no less than thirty-seven stars in the margins. If I this had been my own copy of the book, I might’ve underlined the entire manuscript from start to finish. Packed inside the brief 76 pages there is more wisdom than I have probably successfully communicated in the 633 posts that make up this little website to date. How I ended up checking this particular book out at the local library is a story for another day. Lewis penned after the loss of his wife, Joy. L ast night I finished the brief writings C.S.
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